


The Jade Snake

by Ms_Minty



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Dark, F/M, Film Noir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-10
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-15 06:10:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1294342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_Minty/pseuds/Ms_Minty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the war, Hermione tries to understand the emptiness inside of her. Ron is working in the Investigation of Cursed Objects department, hot on the trail of a cursed jade snake. A bit of film noir mixed with horror, featuring our favorite potions professor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Jade Snake

He cursed as he pulled on his socks, one red, one green, shoelaces untied, but he was late and couldn't be bothered. Dreadfully late. Hermione was already awake at the breakfast table, drinking a cup of coffee, book floating in the air in front of her. He raced around the kitchen, shattered the jar of strawberry jam, sliced his finger on one of the shards--he was a hurricane with Hermione a serene center point in the chaos. Finally he located another cup of coffee and managed to grab a handful of Floo powder. He leaned over the hovering book and gave Hermione a kiss on the cheek.

"Love-you-bye, 'Mione!"

Her eyelashes fluttered as if she saw him for the first time.

"Bye, Ron." But he was already out the Floo, green fumes flaring around him. She looked at the broken jam jar and spilled coffee, sighed, and reached for her wand.

 ***

Ron burst into the Ministry of Magic, running for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Probably nobody would notice his tardiness--after a year of wild times as an Auror, he settled down into a job that fit his previous experience haring around after Harry: Investigation of Cursed Objects. He had a small office in the back of the Department, which suited him fine, and was left to his own work for the most part. His door was still locked and he breathed a sigh of relief as he put his long, brass key in the lock and turned.

"Weasley!!" He felt his entire back tense and turned toward the speaker. The tension left him almost immediately. A small, sweaty, squat man in yellow and red plaid puffed his way down the corridor toward him, waving a package wrapped in brown paper. It was just Howard Grint, a Squib from the mailroom.

"Weasley, I have a package for you!" Grint crammed the package into Ron's hands, then leaned over and put his hands on his knees. Grint was one of the rare Squibs allowed to remain in the wizarding world; he couldn't use the Floo, but managed better than most in the mail room. The owls tolerated him and cursed letters tended to fizzle in his hands.

"Thank you, Grint." He flipped the package over. The package was addressed in a inky scrawl to R. Weasley, no return, no other information. "Who dropped this off?"

"No idea. It came overnight." The little man had recovered from his run and peered at Ron. Evidently he expected Ron to open the package immediately. Ron tucked it under his arm and turned back to his office.

"See you later, chap!" He smiled over his shoulder at Grint, who looked disappointed. No need to let the entire Ministry mail room into his active investigations.

Ron's office was stacked full of various arcane magical items and scraps of paper. He was never much of a researcher, but after handling so many Horcruxes, he felt comfortable around artifacts infused with sinister magic. Sitting on one of his shelves was the object that got him into this office--a doll that he and Harry found on the floor of a deserted mansion, suspected to be used by former Death Eaters as a meeting place. The doll was innocuous looking enough; button eyes and yellow-yarn hair done into pony tails, and a little checkered dress. It sat smiling at him, but he remembered the shrieking ghoul that emerged from the doll's chest after Harry lifted it off the floor.

Ron shook his head clear of the memory. It had all worked out, but there were a few terrifying moments when he thought he'd lost his best friend to a doll. The boy who lived…and was killed by a toy. Best not to dwell too much on it.

His current quarry was a strange case--he had a photograph of the object but did not actually know where the object was. The photograph was of a coiled jade snake, about the size of his fist, intricately carved with ebony eyes. The photograph had been found during a through investigation of the vaults left by Death Eaters, but there was nothing written on the photograph. Among the various stacks of gold and vases, the photograph had been an anomaly. Ron knew better than to ignore anomalies. He had a feeling that the package he received was linked directly to this case.

He plopped down into his office chair, an industrial thing made of dark metal and red vinyl cushions--curiously mundane for the Ministry--and turned over the package in his hands. Grint had hand-delivered it, so it was probably safe. He tore the top off and turned out the contents onto his desk. It was a small glass vial. Ron held it up to the light.

Inside the murky vial was a small silver strand. He'd need a Pensieve.

 ***

Hermione let the book drop to the kitchen table with a sigh. The heavy volume closed with a rustle of pages, leaving the gilded lettering on the cover visible: The Third Treatise on the Magic of Time. It was a side interest, a hobby that threatened to consume her if she would let it. Time.

While Ron had thrived in the two years since the end of the war, Hermione had drifted in abstraction before finally settling down to write. She had long abhorred the Muggle Studies textbook, and became determined to replace it with a more up-to-date version that would help the Wizarding community understand Muggles and forestall any other jumped-up Dark Lords to come.

it was a lonely task though, and before Ron had convinced her to move in with him, she spent many hours alone in dusty libraries. The loneliness was awful, but had somehow felt right. An immense quiet had come into the middle of her life, an impenetrable sphere of stillness that sat directly at her core. When Ron came over to her tiny flat for the first time, she realized she hadn't spoken to a soul in nearly a month.

Ron stuck around though, and the gangly ginger boy turned into a man with broad shoulders and an easy smile. The Auror training left him with strong arms and she liked how they felt around her, she liked the curve of his collarbone and the lines of his back. Living with Ron had been an easy choice, and Hermione felt it was expected of her. Still, the quiet in her heart remained, untouched by his tenderness.

She absently pointed her wand at her empty coffee cup, sending it flying toward the sink, then to dry, then heard a small clink of china as it entered the cabinet. The tome on the table was deeply unenlightening; she had learned more as a third year with a time turner. She wasn't even very sure what she was looking for. She just knew that something was broken, and that she needed to fix time. And couldn't.

Hermione left the kitchen and settled into her writing desk. This is what gave her pleasure, and kept her in the present, away from the minutes and seconds that kept slipping by.

 ***

Acquiring the Pensieve had demanded four separate forms, each filed out in triplicate, and stamped by the requisite authority. Ron ground his teeth as the reedy, indifferent witch behind the counter looked over the fat stack of paperwork, glared at him, checked the paperwork again, then wandered into one of the back rooms. He hated the wait, but he was no longer the free and easy teenager, thieving from Ministry storage to defeat the Dark Lord. Bureaucracy was indifferent to fame.

Finally the witch came back from the warren of storage and Ron was in possession of a Ministry-standard Pensieve for the next 32 hours, after which time he would have to extend permission of use with another stack of paperwork. It was almost as if the Ministry did not really want to solve any mysteries at all.

Back in his office, Ron opened the small crate containing the pensive and set it on his desk. Entering unknown memories could be dangerous, but there was no other way to review the vial's contents. He carefully removed the flask of silvery-murky water that came with the crate, and dumped it into the basin. The Ministry Pensieves were dun and pewter colored, lacking the style and substance of Dumbledore's silvery basin, but they got the job done.

Ron emptied the vial into the Pensieve, shrugged, and plunged his face into the dark swirl of time and memory.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself in a place he didn't recognize. An inky-dark room, stone walls, tapestry, cold--Hogwarts? He caught himself going into a defensive stance, but realized his error immediately. He couldn't be hurt in a memory. There was a small sliver of golden light visible in front of him and he moved toward it. The door at the end of the hall was ajar and he peered into the fire lit room. His eyes refocused in the light and he stifled a gasp.

Toward the back of the room, Severus Snape was sitting in a desk chair at a desk. He was facing the door, and Ron could only see his outline, familiar black shoes, white cuffs at his wrists. Between Snape and the door was a slyph-like Hermione Granger, her back to Ron, wavy hair glinting gold in the light from the fire. She was saying something to Snape that Ron couldn't quite hear. He strained forward to listen, then a green flash caught his eye. The coiled jade snake, clear as day, on the edge of Snape's desk.

Ron smiled in victory, but a movement caught his attention. Hermione had dropped her outer school robe to the floor. His heart made a great gallop in his chest and his mouth went dry. Wildly he reached for excuses, she was getting treated for something, needed to apply a potion, something…

And then Snape's had curled around Hermione's thigh, moving up under her Hogwarts grey pleated skirt.

This, this was private. The jade snake was important somehow, but Ron was not sure that witnessing this was worth it. Why? How? When? He wanted desperately to turn away, but couldn't.

Snape whispered something to Hermione in his deep, husky tenor and she visibly shivered. Snape's hand continued up under Hermione's skirt, and Ron thought he'd heard:

…wet…disgraceful girl….

Snape reached his other hand to twine in Hermione's hair, gathering her close to him. Ron could finally see Snape's face, just as he devoured the mouth of the women Ron loved. Ron was breathing heavily, in a panic, wanting more than anything to make this stop, make this vision go away.

Snape was sitting in his chair and Hermione was writhing against him, moaning her adoration as he bit her neck, mauled her breasts. He stripped her jumper and shirt off with a disdainful flick of his fingers and Hermione was naked from the waist up. Snape's long fingers were everywhere, in her hair, pressing against her back as he buried himself between her breasts, cusping her ass over her white panties, until he suddenly thrust her away from him.

Surely she had rejected him, surely they were both now coming to their senses, victims of some wicked curse? Ron desperately hoped for an explanation. Snape held Hermione's arms to her sides, then stood up, now towering over her like a great, black ghost. Ron found himself wondering--when this was? When had Hermione been so small, yet so perfectly formed? How had this diminutive thing fought next to them for so long? Was it only two years ago?

His attention was recaptured as Snape lifted Hermione and sat her on the edge of his desk. Intensity burned between the couple and Ron found himself unwillingly getting hard. Snape reached under Hermione's skirt and slowly pulled her white panties down. Ron could see Hermione's nipples in silhouette, hard and wet after Snape's lips had tasted them. Snape growled and forced Hermione's legs open further, plunging his face between them. He tasted Hermione like a man dying of thirst, and she writhed under his mouth.

Ron shifted his hard cock within his pants, but was discomfited--he had never tried that with Hermione. She had never groaned and gasped his name, never cried like she was breaking in half from their lovemaking. She was beautiful and he worshipped her and had felt that was enough. She seemed so delicate, so quiet after the war, and Ron didn't want to hurt her.

Snape stood up from his ministrations, then unbuttoned his trousers. His hard cock stood out, proud and large. He guided the head between Hermione's legs and she cried out anew, her hands clutching at the front of Snape's tightly-buttoned up shirt. Snape wasted no time and was fucking her fully, deep, and Hermione's head hung back as she cried like she was on fire.

Snape's thrusts were rocking the entire desk and some part of Ron's mind noticed that the jade snake shook in time with their lovemaking. Hermione, tears streaming down her face, arched her back until Ron thought she would surely break in half, and came. She whimpered as Snape thrust once, twice more, and spent himself between her thighs, eyes screwed shut, with a deep moan of his own.

Just as Snape leaned down to kiss Hermione, a loud creak came from the door in front of Ron. Something had pushed the door open, just another inch. Snape and Hermione startled into action, though Snape's stunning spell struck first. Ron leapt out of the way out of instinct, but the spell hit someone below him. Snape yanked the doorway open, limp cock still hanging out of his trousers, and kicked at something that Ron couldn't see. A figure emerged from beneath an invisibility cloak, and Ron was stunned to see his own, younger face.

Ron could see Snape's smirk in the dark.

"Well, well, Weasley. Come to see what you are missing?" Snape whispered as he knelt over the paralyzed figure.

"Who is it?" Hermione's frantic voice came from behind Snape.

"Nobody, Hermione." Snape flicked his wand at Ron, and the memory went dark.

Ron Weasley pulled his face from the Pensieve, wounded to the core. Cock hard as a rock.

 ***

He raged at himself. Pull it together, man. So she had a thing with the greasy git. Snape is dead now and Hermione is all yours. She's in your apartment, right now, waiting for you to get home. Or absentmindedly greeting you when she finally notices you are around….no. He couldn't think of this. He would finish the case, remove the memory from his mind (once again?) and live his life. He was alive, dammit, and Snape is dead. He would finish the case…just after this one last beer.

Ron waved to the bartender. He didn't recognize him, but he didn't really expect Aberforth to still be tending at the Hog's Head, or else he wouldn't have come.

His mind was still full of jumbled thoughts, Hermione's shiny patent leather Mary Janes bouncing on Snape's back, Ron's own younger face, shocked underneath the cloak of invisibility. He must have stood right in the middle of himself, peering through the same cracked door, Ron thought ruefully.

How had his memory been removed and stored? He had little doubt that Snape had the capability to perform such a task. He was also amazed at Hermione's ability to keep the illicit student-teacher relationship secret. Of course, it was Hermione. Part of his heart went out to her, having to hide her pain through the years. Most of his heart felt empty though, gouged out of his chest. He had a hole in his heart as big as his heart.

He downed his last beer and backed away from the bar. Hogwart's was only a short walk away and he intended to put this nasty business behind him as soon as possible.

 ***

Ron pushed the door open to Snape's old quarters. The very same door he had been hiding behind in the memory. Remarkably little had changed since the night in the past when he had witnessed Hermione and Snape's passionate tryst; the desk was in the same place, along with the chair. The fire that had burnished Hermione's skin and hair into gold was now ashes, long cold.

Headmistress McGonagall had merely shrugged when he asked to be admitted to the room. She hadn't had the heart to change them, and nobody had wanted to move in, belated exoneration or no. The jade snake was missing from the desk and Ron cursed, bringing his fists to his eyes in frustration. It might be for the best, just remove the memory, burn the photograph of the snake, and move on with life. Cursed objects, indeed.

He turned to leave the room, when he saw a glint of jade on the mantle over the fireplace. The snake sat there, coiled, as if waiting for him to turn around. He palmed his wand immediately, and ran a standard diagnostic spell over the snake. Nothing was apparent, but that was not surprising.

A little over an hour later, Ron had exhausted his range of diagnostic spells. The jade snake might, after all, be mundane. The thought was excruciating to Ron. All of this, after all of this, it might just be a Death Eater memento of their blessed time in Slytherin.

Fuck's sake, Ron thought. Somewhere he vaguely remembered Snape's smirk, from the original angle this time. Damn that greasy git. And damn that bookworm who has stolen his heart. He had to remove that memory, and fast.

Finally, Ron resorted to what he called his "Harry" tactic: try to break the thing and damn the consequences. He reached for the snake, not a glimmer of curse-magic emanating from its jade coils, and took it from the mantle.

He lifted the snake high above his head, intending to smash it on the hearth of the fireplace.

His eyes rolled back in his head and Ron fainted dead away.

 ***

The doorknob on the flat jostled, then clicked open. Hermione drowsily lifted her head from her quill and parchment. It was late, and dark--time must have gotten away from her again. It always does, she thought. She wondered at Ron using the front door, as he usually came tumbling from the Floo in a great, noisy gust of green light and powder. Her quill went back to the paper--she wanted to write down one last thought before she finished for the day. A hand cupped her cheek. A sigh of irritation almost escaped her lips when a low voice whispered in her ear.

"Hello, Hermione."

Her heart shudder-started in her chest, beating furiously. It couldn't be, it can't be….she swung toward him and was immediately disappointed. Ron's large frame stood over her, blazing red hair hanging in front of his face.

"Merlin! Ron, you startled me." Hermione felt the stillness come upon her again, covering the momentary confusion and disquiet.

He straightened and took something out of his pocket, setting it on the dresser next to the desk. He turned back to Hermione with an uncharacteristic grace. He put his hand back to her cheek, caressing it slowly. She looked into his eyes.

"Hermione. Please tell me you missed me." Eyes that were once clear and blue were now a fathomless, inky black. The impenetrable sphere inside her soul shattered, and she remembered. Time started to flow once again.

 ***

He wasn't sure what woke him out of his faint--had Minerva found him in Snape's quarters? Ron felt disoriented, weak, and there was something wrong with his eyes. He could feel a faint, dull, vibration underneath him, but his head felt thick and swaddled. Still, he could hear something, a voice crying out.

Ron tried to move, but felt curiously paralyzed. He could faintly feel the outside world, but seemed to be completely locked into place. He tried moving his fingers, his mouth, his legs…nothing. His head hurt. Ron winced against the pain and felt something move. His eyes. His eyes still worked.

He slowly opened his lids. It was dark, and his perspective was all wrong. He expected to be prone, stretched out on a floor, but was instead up high, perched on something. There were shapes moving in the background, but he couldn't quite make them out.

He blinked his eyes a few more times, and the figures came into focus. Hermione. Hermione was the source of the faint cries. She was on her hands and knees, naked, hair tumbling over her shoulders and back. Her moans turned into a wail of pleasure, the like that he'd never been able to get from her.

And yet, behind her…was himself. His well-muscled flanks gleamed in the faint light, his cock pounding into Hermione from behind, Ron's own fingers reaching around into Hermione's mouth, forcing her to suck and lick them.

Ron fucked Hermione skillfully. Ron admired his own power and grace, his intensity, his close attention to Hermione's arousal and his casual brutality with her. Ron hazily thought he should have been happy, watching himself perform so skillfully, so well. Hermione was powerless underneath him and he fucked her with long, deep strokes, taking his time. Her cries were music, cascades of pleasure and his own growls matched her cadence.

But he was still paralyzed, watching himself outside of himself. He shook off the last bit of his confusion, just as the other Ron's face turned toward him. He gave him the same smirk that he saw years ago, and again earlier in the day. Ron's face, with dark, dark eyes.

Snape.

Ron screamed then, and thrashed wildly--but he still could not move. Snape was still fucking Hermione, enjoying it, bringing her crashing into pleasure. Snape turned Hermione over and she wrapped her body around him, kissing him deeply. Snape pushed her down until her back was to the floor, and fucked her hard, as Ron had never dared. Hermione gasped, then wailed, familiar tears streaking her cheeks and as she came, she cried out:

Severus.

Ron felt his jumbled mind descend into pure, shrieking madness.

 ***

An adorable jade carving of a dog fell on its side on the dresser, completely unnoticed.

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of two pieces written in this alternate reality, the other occurs entirely before the war. Forthcoming.


End file.
